Warnings: Swearing. Angst. References to male/male sexual activities between schoolboys and between middle-aged men. Brief, approving, mention of Tonks (sorry remuslives23).

Disclaimer: JKRowling wrote the Harry Potter books and she rightly makes all the money from them and I don't.

Notes: I don't think this strictly adheres to canon, it's a bit approximate. This fic was written as a response to this art: The Treasure of Your Past by kath_ballantyne as part of the shaggydog_swap.

Thanks to emansil_12 for the beta work and for being there, to the mods for running this interesting fest and, above all, to kath_ballantyne for a fascinating picture to work from. I'm afraid the tone of the story is not as cheerful and bright as those in the picture.

Buried Treasure

... smoke swirling in sensuous shapes across a cloud-flecked sky. Running. The touch of skin on his palm. Feet on stone. The feeling of being watched; the knowledge of belonging. Running towards the smoke...

When Remus awoke, very little remained from his dream and somehow the happiness which had permeated it made him feel sad. He dragged his chart from his rucksack as he did every morning and carefully measured out the quantity of Wolfsbane it recommended.

Who would have thought that it would be Snape he depended on now? The young man he had re-inhabited in his dream would have been horrified at the idea. Not even that: he would have dismissed it as an impossibility. They were all on the same side now, though. That was what Dumbledore continually stressed. He made such a point of it at every meeting that Remus couldn't help wondering whether the old man himself actually believed it.

He had the Apparition co-ordinates on a scrap of parchment. He should have memorised them; any written evidence was valuable to the Death Eaters, as Moody constantly impressed on them. The fact was, though, that Sirius moved about so much that by the time anyone had stolen this information, it would already have been too late to use it.

Perhaps Sirius would welcome this opportunity to settle down. There was a chance – Remus tried to convince himself – that his old friend would not resist the request to return to his family home. It couldn't be easy being on the run, especially with a Hippogriff in tow. Only Remus knew in his heart that Sirius would be relishing it: the danger, the near-escapes, even the hardships. Every hour that he was out of Azkaban was a victory for Sirius over the Ministry. Sirius Black versus Authority was his favourite game. It was one he had only really lost once.

Remus left the correct pile of coins on the bar of the inn, alongside his room number. It was too early to check out properly so that would have to do. He stepped on frosted grass as he left the building. The crunch echoed through the silence of a morning so early that not even a hint of grey light was seeping into the dark sky yet. It would be one of the last frosts of the year. Its iced molecules pricked at the inside walls of his nostrils.

He made it to the hard tarmac of the car park, which he crossed as silently as possible, then to the buildings which had once been stables but which were now used for storage – mostly of food, his wolfish sense of smell told him. There was no light by which to re-check the co-ordinates, so he closed his eyes and brought them to mind. He concentrated on those scrawled symbols. Behind the stables and out of sight, he spun into Apparition.

As the world blurred around him and his stomach sank, fragments of his dream returned to him. There was a distant, orange flame and the hoot of an owl. The world reformed and he sank to his knees on wet grit, pulling in deep breaths of salted air. It was too close to the full moon for it to be healthy for him to be doing any of this really. He was following orders and he had vowed to obey Dumbledore. He wished that this assignment had been given to someone else.

The light was beginning to edge away from the pitch blackness of night as he stood upright and looked around him. Spray hit his face and he acknowledged then the rush and crash sounds of waves on large rocks. Turning away from the sea, he scanned the land for signs of a cave. He hefted his feet in their sinking boots towards the dark flatness, but he hadn't made it as far as the sharp grass before a big, wet dog cannoned into him.

Pinned down by the hot, rank, weight of its body, he waited for it to lick him, before remembering that that had been the action of another time and place entirely. Instead, its claws scrabbled at his arm. He pushed it off and sat upright.

"I've got a message, Siri- Pa-" he swallowed. No names. Moody had insisted; it was impossible to tell who might be listening. Remus didn't know what to call his old friend anyway. Mr Black seemed about right, which broke his heart. "Is there somewhere safe I can deliver it?" he asked instead.

When the dog bounded off up the beach, Remus had to run at full stretch to keep up with it.

There was no cave. Instead, there were a couple of trees on the boundary between beach and grass, with a blanket strung between them. A shape was concealed under it which must have been the Hippogriff. The big, black dog sat guard in front of it and looked expectantly at Remus.

He wasn't even going to transform so that Remus could talk to him in person? Remus was too proud to ask him to, instead he checked, "You're sure this is safe?"

The dog nodded. Sunrise began behind it, easing out tendrils of pink light over the scrubby grass-land. There were the scents of ozone and tar and wet dog but nothing edible. Remus tried not to worry about that. He took a deep breath. "The Order needs a safe house, preferably somewhere in London."

The dog whimpered.

"You'd be safer there, too. You both would."

The dog shook its head.

"We need a place. You own it. It's just sitting there, going to waste."

The dog turned away from Remus, towards the rising sun. Its tail hung limp.

"I know how you feel about the place, but the fact is that the rest of us can't even find it, let alone get in, without you." Remus took a deep breath. "It's a direct order in a time of war, Sirius. Unfortunately, your sensibilities don't come into it."

"Cunt."

Remus realised that he'd been looking at his feet only when the word made his head snap up and he saw the dishevelled man sitting in front of him. He couldn't stop the grin which stretched over his face.

"Dumbledore's a cunt," Sirius qualified. "I don't know what you are." He kicked at gritty not-quite-sand. "I can't go back there."

"We all want you to be safe," Remus said in his calm, schoolmaster voice.

"Her portrait's there. Can you imagine? Not to mention the memories."

"I'm sorry."

"And where the fuck have you been? The old cunt has to send you off with a message before you decide to visit?"

"I didn't know where you were. I didn't think you wanted to see me. We had that big, emotional reunion. Then nothing."

"I didn't know where iyou/i were."

"You could have asked Dumbledore."

"Touché."

"My location's not a secret." Remus wanted to be able to add that he ihad /iasked Dumbledore, who'd refused to tell him. Only he hadn't. He hadn't had the heart to face this awkwardness, this distance, the decisions about what to say, Sirius' resentment: all of this.

Sirius shivered and Remus took proper note of just how thin and worn his rags were. "You need a roof over your head," he offered, as tenderly as he could.

Sirius shook his shaggy locks. "Not that one."

Remus decided on a different approach. "How's Buckbeak?"

"Not great," Sirius admitted. "The diet of rats doesn't suit him."

"It doesn't look like it's doing a lot for you either. You both need warmth -"

"Spring's round the corner."

"Shelter, good food, fresh water. You need to stay in one place long enough to get a full night's sleep." Remus looked hard at Sirius. "You're supposed to be looking after Buckbeak. You have to choose what's best for him." It was cheap and Remus hated to use it.

"Will I get to see Harry?" Sirius asked hopefully, but then, darkly, he added, "I don't want him in that evil house. I don't want her poisonous influence affecting him."

Remus sat down. The grass was thick and sharp. "I don't know. Everything's very Need to Know at the moment. Albus seems to be keeping Harry in the dark. I don't know."

"The Order's reforming?"

"It looks like it. Did you hear about the Death Eater display at the World Cup? Something's given them the courage to crawl back out from under their stones, albeit with their masks on. Albus has been pulling people together since then. He's got Moody teaching up at Hogwarts."

Sirius barked an incredulous laugh. "I know. Old Mad-Eye? Those poor kids. Harry said that in one of his letters. He's really excited about this cup, isn't he?"

Remus had the impression that Harry was quite anxious, actually. James would have been excited. "The new Order needs a Headquarters," he repeated instead. "Buckbeak needs shelter." Sirius needed a safe place, but if he'd said that then he wouldn't have got anywhere. "I've got some secret Apparition co-ordinates for where Dumbledore will be this morning. We could go and talk to him." This was where a friend would have warned that Snape was going to be there, too. Remus couldn't blow his mission like that, so he kept quiet.

Sirius sighed. "I'm not going back to that house, but I'll hear him out." He stood up. "Go on, then."

Sunlight still lay on the hill they had just run past, but ahead of them Hogwarts was in evening gloom, the forest beyond it in darkness. There was a stone circle near, and a stone path underfoot, there was a hand clasping another hand – all the skin young, and soft, and smooth. Cold air pushed against their faces; sweating skin heated his palm.

The freshness of the rural greens of the dream felt surreal against the enclosed dark of the Grimmauld Place bedroom which Remus woke in. He cast Lumos against the gloom. It only served to highlight the cobwebs and dust on the wood panelling. It was his turn to 'Doggy sit' as they called it.

Remus had been dismissed as soon as he had delivered Sirius to Dumbledore, and had no idea how the old man had persuaded Sirius to return to his childhood home. He hadn't been among the first dozen names on the rota to 'keep him company' either. Then the Full Moon had happened, so it had been a while since Remus had seen Sirius. When he had arrived the night before, Kingsley had shown him to this room before handing over the 'guard duty'. Sirius had hidden away in his room all evening.

Remus made his way downstairs against the muttered disapproval of portraits and the glare of the old House Elf. He assembled two breakfasts of fruit and toast with a jug of thick coffee and levitated them all up to Sirius' bedroom. There was no answer to his knock so he walked in.

Sirius lay fully clothed on his bed with the curtains open. He didn't look at Remus. Remus tried to form a sentence about breakfast, but he was struggling to order the words, weighted down by the atmosphere of the room.

"Why didn't you try to get me acquitted?" Sirius asked the ceiling.

"What?"

"You never even spoke for me at the trial. You never offered any defence."

"Back then? Look, I made breakfast." It sounded even more lame now.

"Did you think I'd actually done it? Betrayed James and Lily? Killed Peter?"

There was a silence which told Sirius everything. Remus had no words to hide behind. "Peter," he said finally, bitterly.

"Who'd have thought he had it in him? Almost admirable – the planning, the execution."

"I hardly think it was his plan. Coffee?"

"Milk, two sugars."

"Oh." Remus directed the steaming liquid to pour itself into the mug, staring at it hopelessly. "You always drank it black. I remembered the sugar, but the milk's in the kitchen."

"I've changed."

Remus left his useless offering hanging in the air. He set the jug to pour into the other mug then sipped from that.

"He cut off two of his own fingers," Sirius said incredulously. "Can you even imagine him doing that? Remember what he was like with a paper cut?"

"When that spark off the bonfire caught his cuff." Remus was back in that dreamed memory. "He squealed like, like... A rat, I suppose."

"We heard him as we ran up the path. By the time we'd got there James had doused it."

Remus wondered whether Sirius remembered that they'd been holding hands as they ran. They'd never talked about those things then, they'd just happened. Remus had wondered then whether Sirius ever let them happen with other friends, too. He had chosen not to dwell on that question then; he pushed it away again now.

"Toast?" he asked.

"Nah," Sirius muttered.

"You have to eat."

"Give it to Buckbeak."

"Hippogriffs don't eat toast. They eat meat."

"So do dogs," Sirius snapped back, and suddenly it was a canine body on the bed, curling round and scratching a sleep nest out of the quilt.

Remus waited for half an hour while he ate, but the dog stayed a dog and continued to ignore him, so he left.

He sat in the sitting room, on a dusty sofa with springs poking through the upholstery, kidding himself that he was making sure that those really were doxies in the curtain, but in reality he was recollecting the scene which had so haunted his dreams lately.

The facts were hazy. He thought that it had been a Hogsmeade weekend, but they might have snuck down to the village illicitly. There had been some good reason why the other Marauders hadn't been with them, why they had met up with them later. The bonfire had been a surprise, one of James' particularly good ideas. It had been evening, but still light, so it must have been summer. June maybe. It might even have been Midsummer's Eve; that might have been what they had been celebrating.

Some details were clear, though. He could conjure the outlines of individual leaves, the shapes of the birds, the exact brown of the lone rabbit which had watched them boldly from the slope. He knew the flavour of his hard-worked lungs as he ran, the hammer of his heart, but not why they had hurried. Sirius had been wearing James' red Quidditch jersey, though his shoulders were too broad for it and his back too long. It had stretched over his chest and Remus had recognised it as a man's chest, where his own was still as skinny and unshaped as a First Year's.

Just before, in the village, their pockets crammed with shrunken bottles and packages of snacks, Sirius' body had been pressed against his in an alleyway. Between which buildings there was no longer any way of knowing, but it was as though the shapes of the bricks were still imprinted on Remus' back. It had been the first time, or maybe it had just been a surprise. Sirius had clamped Remus' face still with his pale, slender hands, and he had kissed him hard and long. Maybe it had been the first time with tongues.

Then there had been running and hand-holding, the awkwardness of keeping in step at that speed, the darkening sky, the smell of smoke. Sirius' long legs propelled him forwards with a grace which Remus envied. He had been happy, though: incredibly happy. He thought they both had. Sirius' sleek hair had been at the edge of Remus' vision for the whole run. He closed his eyes on that badly sprung sofa and he could smell that night; he smelled smoke and grass and Sirius' youthful scent.

"Fucking doxies."

Remus opened his eyes and realised that there were tears in them, so he didn't look to where Sirius stood in the doorway.

"Yeah," he said, "easy enough to get rid of doxies, though. Lunch?"

He waited until he heard boots on the stairs before he dried his face and stood up.

They assembled sandwiches in silence. As they sat opposite each other at the long kitchen table, Sirius said, "I could run with you again."

"What?" Remus felt caught out, his mouth full of bread and cold chicken.

"At the Full Moon. Like we used to."

Remus swallowed. "I don't really transform any more. I've got this potion." He didn't mention Snape. "We're in the middle of the city. It would hardly be appropriate for a werewolf to go belting round the place, even with a dog to keep him under control." He didn't mention that Sirius was ordered to stay in the house, either.

"Just a thought," Sirius mumbled. He left his sandwich half-eaten on his plate and wandered out of the kitchen.

Remus listened to the footsteps on the stairs again.

Tonks was going to take the next watch. Remus liked her. She wasn't like any Black he'd ever met before. She was playful and hopeful. She didn't care that her clumsiness cost her dignity. She seemed to like him, too, which he didn't understand. If Sirius was going to be difficult then he would just kill time and look forward to seeing her friendly face instead. He wondered what was going on at Hogwarts, particularly with the Tournament. He wondered if there was any way he could find out here.

After an unsatisfying hour of trying to find something readable in the library, Remus felt more sympathetic. He tried to imagine being Sirius. He couldn't even get his head round what Azkaban might have been like. The thought of being that close to that many Dementors made him shiver and check his pockets for chocolate. After Azkaban, Sirius had been a dog in pursuit of a rat, while Remus had been a respected schoolteacher. He missed the routine of that, and the students, and the planning and marking and the theatrics of teaching. Sirius had been hiding out somewhere in the fields or forests then and hunting down scant prey.

There had been too much hiding for Sirius lately; it didn't suited him. He had been a bold and open boy. The small amount of sneaking around which had been necessary for pranks, had been outweighed by the glory of the reveals. Sirius had never walked quietly with his head down; even in the school library, he strode with noisy swagger. Remus missed the Hogwarts library, too.

He went back up to Sirius' bedroom, but it was empty. He found Sirius in Buckbeak's room, grooming the subdued animal.

"He doesn't like being cooped up," Sirius said without turning round.

Remus didn't add that Sirius didn't like it either; they both knew that. Instead, without knowing that he was going to, he said, "I missed you." There was silence. "I miss you," he clarified. Then he added, "I'm sorry."

"I miss everything," Sirius said brusquely, "but we just have to live with that, don't we?"

"I'm worried that you're not looking after yourself. You don't eat."

"Don't get any exercise, do I? Don't need to." He ran a firm brush-stroke down Buckbeak's leg. "You offering to nanny me?"

"Huh?"

"I'm not looking after myself and you think you can do a better job?"

"I can barely look after myself, can I?" Remus' voice was low.

Sirius turned and looked at him then. "The Dementors suck out all the happy memories."

"When I dream about us when we were young, it's always about just after we'd made out. I can't remember how it felt when we were doing it." He could remember, but he wanted to be reminded properly.

"We made out?" Sirius looked astonished. "You and me? Got off with each other?"

Remus felt his eyes wetting as he nodded.

"It must have been really good, they haven't left me any of that." Sirius shrugged. "With each other?" he clarified.

"Yeah. Not just witches."

"I don't remember any witches either. Did we – how far did we go? Like all the way?"

Remus nodded. He didn't trust his voice.

"We fucked?"

"Twice."

"Who went, like, where?"

"What?"

"Who did it and which of us had it done to them?"

Remus just turned away and went back down the stairs. This was too painful; he hadn't anticipated it.

Sirius followed him. "Why did you think I was guilty? Had we split up by then?"

Remus turned to check that Sirius had shut the door to Buckbeak's room. He had. He kept looking over Sirius' shoulder as he spoke.

"We weren't a couple. It wasn't like that. We'd drifted apart I suppose, as friends as well as – the rest. There were so many rumours. Nobody trusted anybody else. I kind of felt – like you'd – made a fool of me. I'd believed in you more than in most other people, but then I just accepted I'd been wrong. I thought I'd been gullible." He paused, glancing at Sirius and then away again. "I'm so sorry." He continued his walk back down to the kitchen. No footsteps followed him.

Tonks drank the tea which Remus had made for Sirius; she cheered him up as she always did.

... the Whomping Willow stood still and too far away to be a danger or a protection. Remus didn't feel like he needed anything else to protect him while he was holding Sirius' hand and running beside him. The smoke from the bonfire curled into the blue sky...

When he first woke, Remus wondered what had triggered that dream this time. Then he remembered that there was a meeting at Grimmauld Place. He dreaded seeing Sirius again. Some part of his subconscious was kidding itself, though, looking forward to the other man's proximity. Sirius now looked nothing like the youth he had been in love with. Was that what it had been? Had he called it love then, even to himself? Or was he so habituated to referring to it as his 'First Love' in his head that he was imposing that word on the past now? They had experimented. If he had taught boys who had been caught doing what they had done, then that is what Remus would have labelled it: sexual experimentation.

The door to Grimmauld Place was opened by Moody – the real Moody, the one who'd been trussed up in a box for most of the previous year. Remus didn't want to talk to him about that, he just shuffled past and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. About half of the seats around the long table were already taken. Tonks smiled at him, so he sat next to her. The place on his right was empty.

Gradually, the other members made their way in. Eventually, Dumbledore patted him on the arm and whispered in his ear, "Dear boy, I'm afraid Mr Black hasn't made it downstairs yet. I wonder if you would go and fetch him?"

Remus knew that his eyes had gone wide. Did Albus have no idea how difficult this was? There were plenty of other people who could have been sent to nag Sirius.

Dumbledore patted his arm insistently. "We need to be getting on."

Remus found himself obeying, the way he always did when it was his old Headmaster issuing the order. The stairs creaked ominously under his tread. He hesitated before knocking on the bedroom door and when he did, the noise sounded feeble.

Sirius' yell of "Fuck off!" was more than loud enough, though.

"There's a meeting downstairs. You're supposed to be at it!" Remus called back.

There was a pause, and then the door opened. Sirius looked actually bashful. "Sorry. Didn't know it was you."

"That's alright. You've sworn at me before."

"Look, sorry about last time. Lot to get my head around." There was something uncharacteristically innocent in Sirius' voice. It wasn't right. "You think I should come to this meeting?"

Remus nodded. "Probably should."

Sirius had never taken any notice of Remus' advice when he'd been a Prefect and Sirius had been naughty. Now, however, he agreed meekly and started down the stairs.

"You should visit more often," Sirius said. "I get lonely. Stay for a drink after."

Remus said that he would before he'd given himself a chance to think about it.

After the meeting, he washed up the tea things to make it less obvious that he was hanging around. He might have imagined Tonks' hesitation to leave. By the time he had wiped the table, he was alone.

"Come upstairs," Sirius said from the doorway. "It's more comfortable. Molly's cleaned part of it."

"Have you fixed the springs on that sofa yet?"

"The chaise longue's sorted," Sirius replied.

But the chaise longue was too small for two people. Surely.

Sirius poured them a Firewhiskey each. Remus sat carefully on the sloping end of the chaise. It was indeed comfortable now, and its worn, cream silk covering had been patched. The patches matched the original so badly that Remus thought Sirius might have done the repair himself.

Sirius sat right up against the upright, leaving enough space so that they didn't touch. He raised his glass. "To the past!" he said and drank.

"To the future!" Remus replied before taking a sip himself.

"Tell me something. Tell me about something I don't remember."

Remus blushed furiously.

Sirius chuckled. That was reassuringly like himself. "It doesn't have to be one of those times. Not yet. Though you still haven't answered my question about it."

"A gentleman shouldn't forget such intimate moments. It makes his partner feel cheap." Remus was attempting a joke, but it was too close to the truth to be amusing.

"Because I was a dog most of the time I was imprisoned, the Dementors only managed to harvest the very happiest of my memories," Sirius replied. "You must have been mind-blowingly good."

Remus felt a grin pulling at his mouth. "Charmer!" he accused, while knowing full well that the charm was working.

"Was I brilliant too?"

Remus muttered something and shrugged. He could feel himself blushing.

"Not that, then," Sirius said gently, "not if it makes you uncomfortable. Tell me about another time."

So Remus told Sirius about the evening in his dream – the one with the smoke and the darkening blue sky, the stone footpath and the Eccles cakes made miniature and hidden in their pockets. He described the Quidditch jersey, but not the way it had stretched enticingly over the chest muscles which Sirius didn't have any more. He began to describe the fire and how Peter and James had been waiting there, but Sirius remembered that part. Finally he told Sirius that they had been holding hands as they ran.

Sirius put down his firewhiskey and took Remus' empty hand in both of his own. "Like that?" he asked.

Remus' blood ran hot round his body. "Not quite," he mumbled. "We'd just been -" but he couldn't say the word 'kissing'. It was too much. So, instead, he demonstrated. He leaned towards Sirius, closed his eyes, and put their mouths together.

Sirius had been sensible to put his drink down. Remus' spilled all over them both as their faces moved together and Sirius' tongue met his. Remus broke the kiss to apologise.

"Where did we do that?" Sirius asked.

"I don't remember exactly," Remus admitted. "Some alley in Hogsmeade."

"I wish I hadn't forgotten that kiss," Sirius said sadly. He took away Remus' glass then said, "Remind me again."

The space between them on the chaise longue disappeared and their bodies pressed together. Remus' fingers ran over Sirius' bony ribs. Their lips moved together and they nibbled softly at each other's faces. Stubble scraped stubble. Black hair fell over both of their cheeks. Remus found one of Sirius' hands and he wrapped his fingers round it, holding their sweaty palms against each other. Sirius edged his mouth away to lick at Remus' neck.

"I can remind you of all of it," Remus promised. "I'll give you back the best memories."

"Will you answer my question?" Sirius growled. "Who goes where?"

"Eventually."